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The routine I have for Saturdays is so nice. I wake up early and feed the family (a slew of cats, a rabbit and birds). Then I prepare a light breakfast that includes a smoothie made of whatever happens to be in the fridge, toast, some yogurt and a hard-boiled egg. About an hour later I’m headed to yoga class. I like the 9:00 a.m. class the most because that’s when Maria teaches. Maria is the best yoga instructor ever. After yoga I come home and eat some more. Yes, lot’s of calories are burned during yoga. After a satisfying brunch I shower and put on something comfy. Then, despite my true desire to sit at the painting station and start a new project, I begin to feel very relaxed…and sleepy. I’m on the couch now, with Batgirl (the cat) beside me. Time for a nap.

You can make a smoothie with almost any fruit or vegetable. I like to use bananas, celery, cucumbers, carrots, papaya, ginger, blueberries, strawberries, peaches, pears, apples, mint, cilantro, parsley, and fresh squeezed lemon or orange juice. Really- you can use any combination of these and your smoothie will be great. Just remember to add water or some sort of liquid to the Magic Bullet or your smoothie will be too think to drink.

The game is on and I want Juventus to win. It’s too bad they’re losing 3-1 with about 17 minutes left in the UEFA Champions League Match. I’m biting the nails on my left hand so this post is taking longer than usual to write.

On to today’s story: For every type of fish my brothers bring back from our trips to Key Largo, there is a recipe that goes with it. Over the weekend they caught Tuna, Yellowtail and Mahi Mahi. The Tuna became Sashimi. It tastes great seared, too. The Mahi Mahi made for a great Brazilian-style fish and shrimp stew. The Yellowtail became Ceviche. You can also grill it or fry it. Below is the list of ingredients I use for the ceviche.

Cut the Yellowtail into small cubes and place in a glass bowl. Pour the lime juice over the fish. Use enough lime juice to cover the fish and about 1/4 inch above it. Stir for a a bit. Let the mixture sit and “cook” for about 20 minutes. The fish will be a chalky white when ready.

Add the remaining ingredients and serve. You can also cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate until ready to serve. Ceviche tastes better the next day, after it absorbs the spices and seasonings. It will stay fresh for up to 5 days.

Pretty Woman. One of my favorite scenes is when Julia Roberts, who plays Vivian Ward, is feeling down and is convinced that her heart will be broken. Vivian’s friend, Kit, tries to cheer her up. Vivian asks for the name of one person for whom the fairy tale came true. Kit puts all her thoughts into finding a name and comes up with: “Cinde-f***ing-rella!”

Lamenting a loss. I plug along at work. I meditate my way to reality and run miles and miles until my body begs me to stop…then I prepare a rescue package of the French form – Raspberry Clafoutis.

Preheat the oven to 350F. Butter a 9-inch gratin dish. In a bowl, whisk the flour, sugar and a pinch of salt. Whisk in the eggs, butter and lemon zest until smooth. Add the milk and whisk until light and very smooth, about 3 minutes. Pour the batter into the gratin dish and top with raspberries.

Bake for about 30 minutes, until the clafoutis is set and golden. Let cool slightly. Dust with confectioners’ sugar, cut into wedges and serve.

We are well into our trip to Portugal and so far we have only good things to say. When we landed in Porto it felt like home. It was kind of strange for all of us, we later discussed. My mom loved the fact that we could walk anywhere and that the nearest cold beer was down the stairs from our apartment. The water, the cool breeze on the Douro River, the sunshine, the wine. We felt completely relaxed. Time for sleep was scarce but that didn’t seem to affect our moods.

I couldn’t wait to be on this trip because I intended to entice you with photos of succulent cuisine and accompanying recipes. But actually, this first post isn’t at all about food.

We spent our last day in Porto at the Ribeira (the banks of the Douro River), which happens to be one of my favorite places on the planet. We watched the people walking past, we drank beer and we chatted with the waiters. By the time we left (and thanks to my mom), we were friends with the entire place.

Next stop was a restaurant, also on the river’s bank. Before the Portuguese waiter could get our drink orders, my mom complimented his good looks and asked for a photo. When we joked with her about the waiter and the kiss on the cheek that he gave her…mom told us we were just jealous because no one else in our group had stolen a kiss from a gorgeous Portuguese man. Okay, better not argue with mom.

We saw some young boys, probably ages 8 or 9, jump off the pier and into the water. The sun shone on the river and it glistened. A man played with his dog, a Dalmatian. A musician with his guitar sat in front of the restaurant and plucked a tune. After dinner we left a little sad, knowing that it would be our last day in Porto. I was in a slight daze, half conscious of my surroundings but half-mesmerized by the magic of the sunset. The sunset is faithful; beautiful every time. I had my back to the water and heard the voices of children play-fighting. Something brushed against my back. When I turned to look, it was the same young boys from the dock, one very blond, the other had light brown hair. They wore pastel-colored swimming shorts. One of the boys pulled the other in my direction while the boy twisted and turned trying to free himself. But before he could get away, his friend pointed to him, then to me and made a heart shape with his two hands. I giggled and gave him my heart back. My little love and his friend ran off, laughing and playing. And just like that…a boy on the Douro River stole my heart. Life’s most beautiful moments happen unexpectedly. Spontaneous yet familiar, embracing while freeing. That is Porto.

The work-week was long and intense. My physical body was about to give out on Friday afternoon. What kept it going was the mental image of a pint of Häagen Daz Rocky Road and a big spoon. On my way out I wished my colleagues a good weekend. When they asked about my plans…I didn’t give the answer a second thought.

“Eat a pint of Rocky Road ice cream and watch re-runs of NCIS, CSI or Law and Order…in that order.”

The good apple of the three 40-somethings said I should resist the urge, have some fruit and go for a run. The one with more sense (divorced and lives life to the fullest) said I should save some Rocky Road for her. She’s my donut-cravings confidant, the one who sends a happy face reply when I text a photo of the box of donuts in my car…on the way to the office.

The craving became stronger on Saturday. I knew I needed that ice cream. At the end of the day, after I had run errands and made frivolous purchases, I drove to the Winn-Dixie near my home. I was in the pets aisle first and picked up those expensive little cans of cat food, some treats and two boxes of cat litter. Then I stood in the frozen foods section. I opened each of the tall glass doors and read the names of the flavors one by one. There were two ladies (40-somethings, too) dressed in sweat pants and hoodies in the same aisle. They smiled empathetically at me, as if saying, “I know how you feel”. They discussed their options and chose two different flavors: double chocolate as well as mint chocolate. I felt a connection to them. It was Saturday night, the three of us had a worn look. We wanted to be on our couches, wrapped in blankets and watching TV. I could be wrong about them and their plans for the evening, but I’m pretty good at understanding people.

Satisfied with their choices the ladies left the ice cream aisle. I stayed behind for a bit, still searching. No Rocky Road. I got in the check-out line behind the two ladies. Some big, strong, good looking guy got in the same line behind me. He had a twelve-pack of beer. I laughed at myself (internally) and smiled at him; I probably looked so pathetic with…a shopping cart full of cat food, cat treats, cat litter…lettuce and kale (for the rabbit). Oh well.

One of the ice cream ladies smiled and asked if I found anything.

I smiled and pouted at the same time “No, there isn’t any Rocky Road.”

“Oh but they have it! It was one freezer over. You must have missed it.”

“Yeah, I saw that…but I want Häagen Daz brand. I’m going to Publix.”

She laughed. I got a thumbs up and this response: “Now that’s commitment. I like that.”

I found the Häagen Daz Rocky Road at Publix. I also picked up a pint of Butter Pecan. It must have been one of those “hot-guy-at-the-supermarket nights”. This time, not one, but two big, strong and handsome eastern Europeans were in the check-out lane next to mine. My eyes locked with the eyes of the taller one. Thankfully, I didn’t have a cart-full of cat food. Although it might actually be alright this time…Europeans tend to be okay with cats. The French loves cats, for example.

I don’t want to go way off topic…but…do you remember that scene in Batman Returns, where Michelle Pfeiffer comes home looking like hell after being electrocuted when she bites an electrical wire and transfers the current to another man? She stumbles into her apartment, turns on her answering machine and the only messages are from her mom. She recklessly opens her fridge…pours some milk for her kitties…and drinks the rest straight from the carton. Cat woman then proceeds to sew her own black vinyl costume.

Well, the scene at my house wasn’t that dramatic, mostly because I already have a cat woman costume and I don’t drink milk. You can view my scene in the photo above. I got home, fed the cats, grabbed my Italian Language book, crawled onto the couch, turned on the TV and had half the pint of ice cream. Happiness comes in small pints.

PS- I forgot to mention the Sardines. I had them for dinner…with the Rocky Road ice cream. An unlikely, but quite uplifting combination.

My dad is a man of few words. When he speaks, though, it is either something very profound or something so funny it will make you fall off your chair in laughter. He said something to me many years ago. He said that when someone really loves you, they will do something about it. I never recognized the truth behind those words until…

It was June of 1988, summertime in the US, winter in Brazil. I was 15. We packed our bags like we had done so many times before; 14 suitcases, army bags and large boxes, between the seven of us. (Seven because my brother’s nine year old friend, Bradley, joined us) Inside the boxes: silk flowers, party favors, cake decorating supplies, and engraved items such as napkins, champagne glasses, and matches, -everything needed for a celebration of high caliber.

I, the typical teenager, wasn’t interested in a fancy party. But I had to board the plane and go with them. After all, the party would be for me.

At the duty free shop in Brazil my mom purchased boxes and more boxes of whiskey. We spent a few days in Belo Horizonte, a city whose name means beautiful horizon. There we met with the seamstress so I could try on the dresses. The dresses, fit for a princess, weren’t ready but they would be shipped to my grandmother’s house in Januaria.

Back then, the only safe way to get to my grandmother’s town (my mom’s hometown) was via a very long bus ride. The bus departed the train station in Belo Horizonte at nine o’clock in the evening. The road was covered with large potholes that had formed after the rainy season. We bounced and jiggled around the bus the entire way. It was cold outside. I leaned my head back but I couldn’t sleep. Eight and a half hours into the trip (around 5:20 a.m.) the bus stopped and the driver instructed everyone to exit.

We were at the bank of the Sao Francisco River. The river’s bank was lined with small clay huts that had straw roofs. The soil was a thick, burnt-orange color. Our shoes and the hems of our pants absorbed the powdery soil as we walked. During the winter season, the Northeastern region of Brazil is hot and arid during the day and cool in the evening. It was still dark outside; the sun would creep out soon. Single flickering bulbs dangled from the electrical lines that were strung from hut to hut. A handful of villagers carried baskets or metal trays containing items such as corn on the cob, fried fish, and bottled drinks. The villagers weaved between the waiting passengers and offered their goods.

Nothing was wrong with the bus, by the way. We just had to wait for the barge to arrive from the other side of the river. When the barge arrived, the larger cargo, including buses and trucks boarded first. The river was calm, it’s water thick and brown. If it were daytime you’d see the tones of red. The thought of boarding a flat piece of metal loaded with heavy vehicles and subsequently being tugged across the river by a small boat seemed risky. I negotiated with God and asked him get us across the river safely. Twenty minutes later (felt like longer) the bus drove off the barge, we re-boarded and were back on the road to Januaria.

The town didn’t change much from year to year. Dilapidated homes lined the cobblestone streets. My grandmother lived in the city square where the homes maintained the colonial style of the late 1800s. The square had a bank, a church, a bakery, two drug stores and a hardware store.

The day we arrived my mom informed me I would dance the waltz with someone named Manoel. According to mom he was the most handsome man in town. She wanted to be sure the photos would turn out nice, hence the arrangement. An argument ensued. There was absolutely no way I would agree to dance the waltz with a complete stranger who was 23 years old. Creepy! I proposed that it was only necessary for me to dance with my dad. The second waltz was reserved for boyfriends and if I didn’t have a boyfriend, we could logically omit that part of the ceremony.

My mom and I argued back and forth on the matter until I finally agreed to her conditions: If I didn’t have a “boyfriend” by the day of the party I would dance with Manoel. (In the meantime I told myself I would devise a plan to meet and inform this allegedly good-looking man that it wouldn’t be necessary for him to dance with me.)

The next day our family went to the “beach”. The road that led to the beach was dusty with that thick burnt orange powder. At the beach we sat under the shade of a tiki hut. Something was cooking in the hut’s kitchen and it smelled really good. My parents went from table to table and greeted people. Everyone was really friendly. We got hugs and kisses from people I had never met before. My parents found an empty table. I sat facing the hut’s kitchen because even back then I was curious about food. My parents had their backs to both the kitchen and to the entrance of the hut.

I looked around and explored our surroundings and quickly noted the contrast in the local’s attire versus mine. I wore a lime green American-style bathing suit. The bottom of my bathing suit looked like a diaper compared to the teeny-tiny bikinis worn by all the other girls on the beach. Good thing I had on a pair of white shorts to cover my diaper butt. I looked down at my clothes and felt a bit embarrassed.

I heard some laughs and commotion at the back of the hut. When I looked up, there he was. He was tall and had dirty blond hair (like Jon Bon Jovi’s). His eyes were green, set perfectly between a nose that turned slightly upward when he smiled. He had full lips and perfectly aligned white teeth. I don’t think I had ever considered a being to be perfect until my eyes scanned downward toward his legs. Those legs, thick and strong all the way down, completed the package.

My analysis lasted the few seconds it took him to walk to our table and gently pat my mom on the back. Mom turned and enthusiastically hugged him. “Manoel!” Meanwhile, my mind and heart raced at 100 mph. This was Manoel and he was not the best looking man in town. He was the best looking man I had ever laid eyes on. My mom introduced us and told him I was her daughter and would be the one for the waltz. He flashed a smile and said he would be delighted to dance with me. Something told me Manoel had been in many other waltz pictures and didn’t seem to mind the attention. He moved to greet people at other tables. We were at the elder’s tent. He disappeared behind me…very likely headed for the young and cool people’s tent. My pulse and blood pressure returned to normal after a half hour. Okay, maybe it took a couple of hours.

The party wouldn’t be for another several weeks. The doorbell rang constantly at my grandmother’s house. People came to ask for invitations and also brought gifts. The party planners came over every couple of days to discuss the details. I stayed out of it. It seemed to me that this party would be the wedding my mom never had. She married my dad in a small ceremony. Dad wasn’t there. He was in the US and sent a power of attorney for his brother to take his place so that mom could obtain a Visa to come to the US.

I went out almost every night with my cousin who was one year my senior. She taught me how to fend off unwanted guys. Brazilians are quite forward when compared to American guys. I wasn’t used to walking in the street and having a person walk past and say he wished he were the strawberry ice cream I was savouring.

I hadn’t seen Manoel since that day at the beach. My cousin and I leaned against the wall that ran along the river. About 20 feet below was the river. During the rainy season the river would reach the top of the wall and sometimes flow over into the city. I remember exactly what I wore that night. It was a gray knit skirt, about an inch above my knee. My blouse had half sleeves and matched the skirt. The back of the blouse said: “Naughty Boys”. It was a popular brand of clothes in the US at the time. (For Brazil’s fashion standards, I was still tacky)

Two guys came over to talk to us. The guys were Paulistas (from Sao Paulo), in town for work. Their names were Luis Enrique and Olavo. They were your typical city boys, nicely dressed and clean-cut, with Italian last names. The conversation progressed to our plans for the days ahead. My cousin mentioned my 15th birthday party and also told them that I would be forced to dance with a guy who I wasn’t interested in. The Paulista who seemed to take a liking to me, immediately offered to be my partner for the dance. I smiled and thanked him but didn’t exactly accept.

Cars drove slowly down the street. Some played loud music. The boys made passes at the girls. Across the street there were a number of bars. The bar directly in front of us was sparsely occupied. I noticed someone familiar at a table with two girls. He wore a beige and brown marbled sweater, jeans and a pair of all-stars. I wondered who the girls were and whether either of them was his girlfriend or maybe a friend with benefits. I was actually jealous.

Meanwhile, the two Paulistas carried on. They asked me questions and I answered, mostly using monosyllable replies. They didn’t notice where my attention was. You have to keep in mind that I was a very shy girl back then. I didn’t know what a comfort zone was but you can be sure I was outside of it. What happened next blows my mind. My actions would shape my life forever.

I casually informed the Paulistas and my cousin that I would be right back. I strutted across the street on a mission…poofy hair and high-heel silver pumps (so tacky)…and said hello to Manoel. I told Manoel that I would like to ask him a question. He smiled and waited. By then the girls he was with had eased out of the way. In a soft and shy-but-confident voice I asked him if he would dance the waltz with me at my 15th birthday party. He hugged me and said “Of course I will”.

From that moment forward he never let go of me. Across the way the Paulistas deduced they would not be guests at my party. My cousin was utterly confused. Manoel and I were inseparable for the next several weeks. He’d pick me up each morning and we’d head to the beach. After the beach he’d drop me off at my grandmother’s house so I could nap. He’d return later and wake me from my nap—that was nice. We were together until around midnight, sometimes longer. I was in love.

On the day of the party Manoel and I, along with my parents and brothers, stood at the reception area of the social club and greeted 600 guests. (Three kisses on the cheek from each. My facial muscles were sore.) I had made some friends since our arrival in Januaria. But of the 600 guests I could say I only knew 50. We danced the waltz together just as my mom had planned. Wink, wink! Fireworks rang out. He stood at my side and we cut the four-tier cake. The celebration would come to be known as the Party of the Century.

It is true. All good things come to an end. Our time expired just a few days after the party. Our family had to board the same bus back to Belo Horizonte to then board the flight to Miami. Manoel and I cried and hugged and cried some more. I knew he would miss me and I would miss him just as much.

The years passed. Each time I visited Brazil we would meet. The emotions were the same. He had a few serious relationships and lived with a woman when he was away at law school. Eventually he returned home to practice law with his father and became engaged to a local girl whose family owned half the town. They had supermarkets and gas stations. I knew he didn’t love her. He was making the wrong move for the wrong reasons. Money and power are never good reasons to marry.

My family was invited to the wedding. On the eve of his wedding I was at a Karaoke Bar when a young man approached our table and asked if someone could tell him where to find Priscilla. My aunt pointed at me. The young man said that someone at the door was waiting to speak with me.

His truck was parked out front. In small towns, everyone knows everyone…and everyone finds out about everything. I didn’t care. I got in the truck. We talked…he told me he wanted to marry me. I scolded him and questioned his sincerity. He said he loved me and that I was the one he wanted to marry. I didn’t believe him. Why would he wait all this time to tell me? On the night before his wedding? It probably wasn’t true. So I called his bluff and said that if he wanted to marry me he could.

He stopped the car at my grandmother’s doorstep—another big mistake in a small town where everyone talks. We talked some more. Neither of us seemed to care what other people thought that night. We stared into each other’s teary eyes and didn’t say a word for a few minutes. Before I closed the door he said he loved me. I ran up the stairs, buried my head in a pillow and cried.

The next day wasn’t easy. Remember that the church was in front of my grandmother’s house. I opened a bottle of wine and sat at the balcony. The guests began to arrive. My family and I walked over and sat in one of the back pews. My hands shook and heart pounded. Manoel saw my brothers and pretended to choke himself, a Brazilian gesture that refers to the act of getting married.

The wedding happened. They bride and groom exchanged vows. At the reception they greeted guests. I walked past. His new bride held on to him for dear life. While still holding her hand he leaned toward me and said something in my ear. The music was loud so I couldn’t hear him. I asked him to repeat. He repeated but I still couldn’t hear. On the third attempt he said, “Never mind”.

Months and years passed. I heard rumors about his failing marriage all the time. He left the house several times. I saw him every now and then. He always had a hug for me, a very special hug. The kind that neither of us wanted to let go of. After seven years and a number of reconciliation attempts the marriage ended. (Apparently seven is the magic number for divorces).

Separation after being with a person for a long time is not easy, even if things are bad and the separation is for the better. But life was really looking good for Manoel after the divorce. He moved into the space above his law firm. I was happy for him.

My mom was in Januaria in August of that year. She emailed me pictures of Manoel and said he wanted to see me. He asked my mom if it would be okay for him to visit me in Miami. He told my mom he wanted to marry me. She always liked Manoel so “yes” was her answer. I told her to let him know that he shouldn’t worry because we would see each other soon. I had plans to visit in December. He sent a message back saying that December was too far away. He said he would come get me sooner. My mom played along with him and said, “Okay, as you wish”. After all those years he still referred to my mom as his “sogra” or mother-in-law.

Mom returned to Miami. We were both excited about my seeing Manoel again. He was divorced now. The path was clear. After also having recently ended a long-term hopeless relationship I was ready for him. We were ready for each other. I remember sleeping so peacefully in the weeks that followed.

One morning in late August, not long after her return from Brazil, Mom entered my room with a startled look on her face. Something was wrong. “What, mom?”

She told me she had just received a call from my uncle. Manoel had been in a car accident. My immediate reaction was, “Okay, but he’s going to be okay, right? He’s in the hospital, right?”

“No”, she said. “He died in the accident.”

My world fell apart on that day. We had waited so long. How could our plans end this way? The sadness I felt was deep. His physical life ended on that day. My spirit died. My heart was broken. My life would never be the same. I promised myself many things. I would never take time for granted. I promised I would always do what I wanted to do and say what needed to be said, without holding back. I promised to say yes more, to believe in people more…to love more.

One year later to the day of his death I visited Januaria. Strangely, I walked around town and still expected to see him drive past in his truck and wave. It was hard to accept his death. What occurred next was even harder to accept.

Manoel’s mom came to visit. She brought an envelope with her. She began to cry as she told this story:

“On the day of his wedding, Manoel drove 100 km to another town and called us to say he would not be there for the wedding. He told us he did not want to marry her. He told us he didn’t love her. He said he loved you and wanted to marry you.”

Manoel’s mom described the events that had transpired on the day of his wedding. She said, “I told Manoel that all the catering had been arranged, the guests had been invited…and he couldn’t just walk away. I told him he needed to come back. I told him he needed to respect his family, her family, and the guests. He refused. We had no choice. So we sent his brother and sister to pick him up. We coerced him into marrying his fiancé against his wishes.”

Manoel’s mom was there to apologize to me. She felt a tremendous amount of guilt for forcing him to marry someone he didn’t love. And now, she felt she would have to carry the guilt of his death with her. Had he not married her, she reasoned, he might not have started drinking…and therefore the accident wouldn’t have happened.

She opened the envelope and showed me the contents. One by one she laid them out on my lap. They were all photos of me, different sizes, different shapes, and different ages. She had found them in his drawers, hidden in various spots. She found them while cleaning out his home following the accident.

“He loved you, Priscilla. His wife knew he loved you. She despised you because she knew the truth. She knew he was with you the night before his wedding and she knew he left town on the day of their wedding.”

I was in complete shock. He really meant it that night. He really did want to marry me. I should have believed him. I should have offered to run away with him. I would have done it.

Now I, too, was overcome with guilt. I thought of what our lives would have been like had things happened differently. I don’t know how our lives would have turned out…but I now know that my dad was right when he said, “when someone loves you they will do something about it”. Manoel did something about it. But his family stopped him.

His mom hugged me and we cried. Before she left she said I should go on with my life and find someone good. She said that’s what Manoel would have wanted. He wanted me to be happy. She said it was time to let him go.

I haven’t returned to Januaria since then. I prefer to remember the good times we had, the sunsets and sunrises. The sun set too soon for my Manoel. I am still blessed with the gift of life and a sun that rises every day. It means I have the responsibility to live a meaningful life and try to make the world a better place. His love shines in my heart every day. Happy Valentine’s Day, Manoel.

Very rare are the days when I am able to do absolutely nothing. The recent weeks have been hectic to say the least. The good comes with the bad and it all sort of blends together like a blurry photograph.

Today would have been a beach day were it not for the rain. Instead, I’m on the couch facing two cream-colored armchairs, a black cat on each, and a black Baby Grand Yamaha piano, orange cat resting on top. I could be doing nothing as they are. (The average cat sleeps 18 hours a day) Alternatively, I could try to catch up and post the rapidly growing backlog of recipes and photos. There’s a championship soccer match on TV. I can watch it while I type this entry.

You’ve probably noticed that this blog lacks recipes that incorporate red meat. Red meat does not appeal to me. I have a hard time eating parts of sentient beings who once had four legs and walked the earth. However, when the need arises for heartier foods and iron in the diet, ground beef does the job.

The name of this Brazilian dish is “Escondidinho”. The word escondidinho is the dimunutive term for hidden. When translated literally it would mean: Little hidden one. The recipe and the concept are straightforward. Cooked ground beef on the bottom of a casserole dish and mashed potatoes on top. Key things to consider: The texture of the mashed potatoes and cooking time of the ground beef. Aim for moist mashed potatoes and moisture in the meat, as well.

In a bowl mix together the potato, butter, milk and salt with a spoon until the mixture is smooth and light and set aside. (I used the potato masher to accomplish this task) Heat oil in a pan and cook the ground beef. (The recipe says to allow all the liquid to try but I prefer to leave a little moisture) Add the onion and garlic and cook for 5-10 minutes. Add the tomato, salt and parsley. Stir and cook for a few minutes. Level the cooked ground beef into the bottom of a rectangular glass pyrex and carefully cover with the mashed potatoes. Sprinkle the parmesan cheese on top. Cover with foil and bake for 30 minutes.
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This cheesecake is awesome! The little rats are so, so cute and they are entirely edible, made from strawberries covered in chocolate and sprinkled with black decorating sugar. The ears and fangs are almonds. The tails are made from gummy candy cut into thin strips and dipped in chocolate. Halloween guests will beg for more “rats on cheese”. I took the recipe from Redbook online, September 2007.

Beat cream cheese and sugar in a medium bowl, until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition and making sure to scrape sides of the bowl. Add orange zest and sour cream and beat until just blended.

Add 4 drops of yellow food coloring and stir well to blend. Remove 1/2 cup of the cheesecake batter and place into a small bowl. Add 5 drops of yellow food coloring to the 1/2 cup batter and stir well. Spoon into a resealable bag.

Pour light yellow batter into baked tart crust and smooth top. Snip a very small corner from bag with darker yellow batter. Pipe random spots of batter on top of the tart in a variety of sizes to make the cheese holes. Bake tart until lightly puffed and center is just set, 30 to 35 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack; cool completely. Refrigerate at least 2 hours before serving. Serve with Chocolate Rats.

Line a cookie sheet with wax paper. Trim a small piece from one side of each strawberry so they can rest horizontally on wax paper. Insert 2 sliced almonds — about 1 inch from pointed end of strawberry and about 1 inch apart — to make the ears of the rat.

Follow heating directions for dipping chocolate. Insert a fork into the large end of a strawberry. Holding strawberry on fork over container of dipping chocolate, spoon chocolate over strawberry to coat. Allow excess chocolate to drip off, tapping fork lightly. Sprinkle with black sugar to coat and transfer strawberry to prepared cookie sheet. Add yellow candies for the eyes, slivered almonds for the teeth, and brown candies for the nose. Repeat with the remaining 7 strawberries. Refrigerate rats until ready to serve.

Make a hole with a toothpick in back side of a chocolate-covered strawberry and insert one end of a 4-inch piece of black licorice for the tail. Repeat with the remaining 7 strawberries. Serve with Creepy Critter Cheesecake.

I’m spending this romantic Friday evening with a man named Alejandro. His dark hair is slicked back. He has a beautiful face, strong jaws and full lips. His hot-flash-stimulating body matches a voice that roars like a horseman racing through a forest, crying for his lost love. If you know Mexican music, you know Alejandro Fernandez. He isn’t really here with me physically, but I have him on YouTube. It is good enough.

Before Alejandro finds me and we gallop off into the sunset, I should give you the recipe for Chocolate and Orange Madeleine Cookies. For the English-speaking blog readers: You can go directly to the blog where I found this recipe. Chocolate & Orange Madeleine Cookies

In a bowl beat together the eggs, sugar and salt until well combined and the batter begins to slightly change in color. Stir in the vanilla.

Stir in the flour and cocoa. Then stir in the melted and slightly cooled butter. Stir until just combined and nearly no lumps remain in your batter (you do not need to over mix here).

Add the orange zest. Spoon the batter into your buttered madeleine pan. Bake at 375°F for 8-10 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center of a cookie comes out clean. Allow to cool for just a few minutes before removing from the pan to a cooling rack. For added joy spread nutella on the cookies and make a sandwich with fresh sliced strawberries.

Can you think of that special treat that brings brightness to your eyes and a smile to your heart? What is your weak spot when it comes to food? Put a box of chocolate glazed Dunkin Donuts down a path where you think I might pass. Even better if you throw in a chocolate-glazed with colored sprinkles on top. Do that and wait.

It happened today. My colleague and I were on our way to exchange our office keys when we saw the two boxes, one stacked on the other, on a small desk with a sign above it that read “Thank you for your hard work, Budget Team.”

We don’t even work for the budget team but that didn’t stop us. The best part of opening the box is the moment before you open it. I always say a little prayer to the food gods and hope there is a chocolate-glazed inside. She slowly opened the box. There it was. The sole chocolate-glazed shining brightly among a variety of other “holy” options.

My colleague, the stronger and more disciplined member (a.k.a Zumba Queen) of this mischievous duo, slammed the box shut and said, “No, we can’t. We have to be strong”. “Shucks”, I thought. We were about to walk away (I’d be back later, of course) when another colleague appeared and headed straight for the box. “Ohhhh, no!” was my silent thought. I pretended not to watch as she reached inside and grabbed something else. My internal organs smiled. “Thank you, food gods, for leaving it there.”

Dunkin Donuts might not impress you and now you might even begin to question my gourmet taste buds. Look, I live for Food & Wine Magazine’s delectable dishes but I die for Dunkin Donuts. Guess what I found in the second box? Hint: It had colored sprinkles on top!

I hope you enjoy the recipe for Earl Grey Chocolate Chip Cookies, another dangerous road that leads to sin. The recipe for these can be found on the DesignLoveFest blog.